


Winter's Kiss

by zzoaozz



Category: Sleepy Hollow (1999)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:19:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zzoaozz/pseuds/zzoaozz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod is restless and frustrated as he tried to settle in Sleepy Hollow until a cold winter's day lures him into the forest and into the arm of a dead man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter's Kiss

Ichabod Crane slipped out the town meeting as soon he could. He felt out of place there, and unwelcome. Even Masbeth seemed to be preoccupied with the appointment of new town officials, and Katrina was totally obsessed with planning the upcoming Thanksgiving celebration. 

Ichabod sighed wearily. Sleepy Hollow was the last place he wanted to be, and they all had apparently decided that his moving here and taking up the position of town constable was some sort of honor for which he should be grateful. All he wanted to do was go home, back to New York, back to sanity and science. He wanted everything to be the same as it was before the Horseman, before the witchery, before everything he believed in had been broken and discarded. 

He walked in long strides with his head down and his hands thrust into his pockets. His anger built into a dull ache just behind his eyes. He felt trapped by this town, by Katrina, by the chain of events that had brought him back. He was powerless, moving to wills other than his own. 

He was deep into the Western woods when he heard the sound of hooves approaching him. He realized that he had been gone longer than he thought. The sun had disappeared behind the horizon and the day had slipped into twilight. They must have missed him, then, and sent someone to fetch him. 

He turned, putting on his most haughty expression, prepared to give whichever poor fool they had sent the sharp side of his tongue. However, the tall stallion that appeared before him was nothing of Sleepy Hollow, it was not even a creature of this Earth. He swallowed with some difficulty and forced his gaze farther up. 

The Horseman stared back down at him without expression. Ichabod tried to speak but his throat seemed incapable of making any sound. He felt dizzy and might have fallen had the Hessian not leaned forward across his saddle and placed a gloved hand on the constable's shoulder. 

Ichabod's heart threatened to leap out of his chest. Fear kept him upright and frozen in place. The Horseman spoke in a deep voice. Ichabod did not understand the words, but they seemed reassuring. Not believing his own courage, he stepped closer and looked up at the rider. He was the same as Ichabod had last seen him, dressed in his ornate, black leather armour, dark hair tousled wildly, hollow cheeked and pale skinned, with eyes of a strange, silvery blue that reminded him of winter storm skies and frozen streams. 

The Horseman straightened and gathered the reins. Without thinking, Ichabod reached out and laid a hand on the stallion's saddle. "Wait!" The Horseman relaxed his grip and looked down at him with obvious curiosity. "Do you speak English?" 

The Horseman looked at him for a while before replying. His voice, when it came, sounded rough from disuse. "Some." 

"Why are you out here? Did someone disturb you? Is everything alright?" 

The Horseman stared at the constable, his light eyes taking in every detail of the mortal from his own shock of untamed hair and his strange facial structure to the immaculate uniform he wore. He held out his hand, gloved palm up to the young man. "Ride." 

Ichabod was not sure if the word was a question or a command, but he saw no reason not to obey. If the Horseman had wanted him dead, he would be dead already. Wondering if he was totally mad, he took the offered hand. The Horseman lifted him into the saddle in front of him as if he weighed no more than a child. 

Daredevil continued along the game trail at a sedate pace. Ichabod found himself seated between the Hessian's thighs with his back pressed against the soldier's chest. One arm curled around Ichabod's waist, the other held the reins loosely against the horse's neck. 

As they rode, Ichabod found himself relating the events that had led to him remaining in Sleepy Hollow. He did not bother to curb his bitterness at the way things had become of late. The Horseman listened. He did not say anything, but Ichabod had the strangest feeling that he was genuinely interested. 

When he had finished, he looked over his shoulder at his companion. "You never told me what has you abroad. Has someone been messing with your grave?" 

"No." The Horseman's voice rumbled pleasantly against Ichabod's back. "I felt you." 

"Me?" Ichabod stiffened a little. "Are you angry about what happened?" 

"I owe you my freedom, Ichabod." 

Ichabod shivered at hearing his own name in that strange, deep voice. "You owe me nothing, what the people of Sleepy Hollow did to you was wrong, no matter what crimes they thought you guilty of, Every man is entitled to a trial and proper defense before being executed." 

"You are different." 

Ichabod sighed. "You're right. I don't belong here or anywhere else for that matter. I am quite sure my superiors in New York sent me here to get me out of their hair, and the longer I stay in Sleepy Hollow, the more I feel that I am merely being tolerated. Even Katrina is different now." 

He told the ghost how she had been growing more and more distant as the danger they had faced together faded from their minds. They still maintained the pretense of being a couple, but they barely spoke any more. He sagged wearily and was surprised when the Hessian held him even closer. 

I feel like I remind her, everyone really, about all the deaths and the terrible things that happened. I think they would be just as happy to send me on my way and forget everything. 

"It has ever been so. The soldier is a 'hero' by morning, a 'killer' when the battle is done." 

"Did you enjoy that lifestyle, the killing, the battles, the danger?" 

"Sometimes." 

They rode on in silence as Ichabod thought over the Horseman's words. He was so lost in thought that he did not notice when Daredevil stopped. When he did look around, he found that they had halted on a high outcropping of rock looking over the whole village of Sleepy Hollow. From their perch it seemed tiny and still beneath the light blanket of snow. The only motion was the milling of sheep in the commons and an occasional wisp of smoke that drifted across the rising moon to fade away into the gathering storm clouds. 

"It looks so peaceful from up here. I wish I never had to see it any closer than this," Ichabod sighed. 

"Stay." 

"What?" Ichabod half-turned in the saddle, sure he had misheard. "What did you say?" 

Instead of replying, the Hessian leaned down and brushed a gentle kiss across Ichabod's lips. He shivered as the spirit withdrew leaving his lips tingling with energy and a fiery ball forming in his stomach. He could not seem to focus on anything except the memory of those lips brushing his own. 

"Stay with me." The Hessian's voice was strong, certain. Ichabod could here the sincerity in his voice. This was a real and serious proposal, an offer from a man, a ghost of man at that. 

"I, I don't...know...what..." 

The Hessian leaned forward again and silenced him with another feather-light kiss. "Call, I will come, Ichabod." He lifted the stunned human down and pointed to a path that could only lead straight to the village below. 

Ichabod took a few steps down the trail then turned to look at the apparition. They stood as silently as a statue, a ghost horse and its ghostly rider. He touched his lips where the Horseman's kiss still burned and whispered "Thank you," before turning again and trudging down the path to Sleepy Hollow. 

In a daze, Ichabod returned to the Van Tassel mansion and climbed the stairs to his own room without seeing another soul. He lay down on the narrow bed without removing his clothes or even his boots. He began to examine what had happened in his mind. He ruled out the possibility that he had dreamed the whole thing. It had been very real. He could still smell the faint scent of pine and smoke that had clung to the Hessian's cloak. His thighs and calves were sore as they always were after riding a horse. 

He closed his eyes and deliberately tried to recall the feel of the Horseman's kiss, for a kiss it had been without any shadow of a doubt. He could imagine it all so easily, the powerful, masculine presence behind him, the way the Hessian's voice had rumbled against his back, the kiss. Everything kept coming back to the kiss. His lips had been firm, sure, but so gentle, so careful. He had offered... Ichabod's mind refused to explore the offer too closely. Confusion and excitement combined with the unaccustomed exercise got the better of him and he drifted into a restless sleep. 

He woke to Masbeth's voice calling his name. He sat up, still clothed and looked at the boy. "What did you say?" 

"I said it is past dinner, you've slept all day, Katrina needs you to go over the plans for the Thanksgiving celebration with her. She is in the sitting room below, waiting for you." 

Sighing, Ichabod forced himself out of bed and tried to tug his uniform into some semblance of order. He ran his hands through his hair, but saw that there was no use trying to tame the mess. Feeling oddly unreal, he headed down the stairs after the boy. The cozy sitting room seemed as dark and gloomy as a cave to him. The fire stung his eyes, and Katrina's chatter seemed to grate on his nerves. He found himself tuning her out and staring through the small windows as the shadows lengthened and the sun sank below the horizon. Fat flakes of snow drifted past the window. 

He was pulled back to reality by Katrina's voice. She was asking something, and probably not for the first time from the sharpness of her tone. Apologizing, he excused himself pleading the call of nature. He slipped up the stairs into his own room and found his good woolen coat. Not really knowing what he meant to do, he crept down the stairs and out into the darkness. The snow was falling more thickly as he strode out of Sleepy Hollow toward the Western Woods. 

It was colder than he had thought and the storm was growing worse. His feet grew numb quickly, but he continued on. Behind him, the wind driven snow was obscuring his tracks. He was deep into the woods when a fallen branch tripped him. He fell heavily into a drift and sat up shaking snow from his face. The moon was directly overhead, what he could see of it through the racing clouds. The wind's moan had become a howl. 

He had been a fool, he realized. Even if he could find his way back to the village, he would freeze before he reached it. He weighed his options. He could try to make it back, he could try to find shelter, or he could sit here and die quietly. None of the choices seemed very pleasant, Instead, he decided to go on, allowing his feet to lead him where they wanted. 

He was starting to stumble more frequently when he heard a sound in front of him. He froze, It was something big. He took a few staggering steps backward when the solid looking undergrowth ahead of him parted with uncanny silence. Then, a huge black horse was stepping through and coming to a halt in front of him. Ichabod noted with uncharacteristic calm that the horse's hooves made no dent in the snow. 

He looked up slowly. The Hessian was silent, expressionless. The snow did not seem to land on him, though he appeared solid enough. His riding cape did not move in the blizzard winds. He was silent, ethereal. He belonged to the night and the forest, to the storm that raged around him but never touched his pale flesh. 

The Horseman dismounted and stood in front of Ichabod. "You should not be out." His voice sent shivers through Ichabod's body. He stepped forward blindly. The Hessian enveloped him in strong arms, wrapping his cloak around the chilled human. He was blessedly warm. 

Ichabod clung to the larger man. The Hessian was saying something rapidly in his own language. Ichabod felt himself lifted onto the horse once more. He pressed back against the body behind him. The Hessian reached to undo a pin at his throat and the heavy cape came loose. He wrapped it around Ichabod and held him tight enough to hurt a little. 

Ichabod closed his eyes a moment and sighed as darkness overtook him. Ichabod dreamed. 

The world was dark and silent. The snow lay unbroken all around him. He was cold, so cold, frozen to the very core of his being. A tear escaped his eye. It froze on his cheek. He was weary and the wilderness stretched ahead of him, unbroken and unending. He turned slowly and looked behind him. There was nothing save the same endless bleak land and leaden sky. His own footprints faded into the grayness a dozen paces back. 

Despair washed over him. He bowed his head and fell to his knees. Duty demanded he continue on, trudging through the dead plain until another took his place. Then he could die, forgotten and forsaken, swallowed up by the nothingness of his place, his life. 

His spirit was wounded. He wanted to stop, to remain here and let the ice take him. The pain would fade swiftly and then there would be peace. It was so tempting, no one would ever know that he had given up. They would simply think that he had given all he had and died in the service of duty. He would be remembered kindly until the mist of history shrouded his name in obscurity. For a moment he could taste the bittersweet victory, but only a moment. His conscience would not let him go so easily. 

He struggled to his feet and took a few staggering steps forward then fell to his knees yet again. He realized with a vague sort of surprise that he was weakening, the ice was winning. He smiled at the irony of it. The decision had been lifted from his shoulders. He let his eyes drift shut and relaxed as a slow warmth seemed to flow over him, creeping into a body that had been frozen far too long. 

He felt sleep and the promise of death within it reaching out to claim him and prepared to welcome it with open arms. Then a voice whispered close by his ear. He could not understand the words but he could feel the urgency, the command. He struggled against his will to respond to the voice. He wanted to scream at it to go away and let him die but it compelled him to listen and fight. He felt something brush his face and struggled wildly. He could not break free, he was pinned down by some incredible force. The voice was growing harsher demanding his attention. 

Between one heartbeat and the next, the warmth vanished to be replaced by a bitter cold that struck to his bones. The Hessian was speaking in his own guttural language and shaking him. It was he who was holding him fast. The long cloak wound around him pinning his arms to his side and an arm as heavy and immovable as stone held him in place. 

They were flying, the sound of thunder raging all around them. Daredevil's hooves barely touched the ground. He lsoared over trees and boulders as if they did not exist. The Hessian was spurring his mount onward crying out to him in German. The horse's answering scream was lost in the wind's cry. Then, Ichabod felt the beast gather itself and leap. 

There was silence. 

Ichabod trembled and heard the Hessian's voice change to a gentle reassuring murmur. He was lifted down from the horse and cradled in strong arms. He tried to look around, but the darkness here was complete. He could hear no sound and the only smells were soil and a faint coppery odor that teased his memory. 

The Tree, this must be The Tree and that smell must be...blood. 

He wanted to be sick, or to faint, or to let the darkness take him for good. Only the Hessian's arms, strong as steel, kept him anchored to consciousness. He almost cried as those arms set him down gently then retreated. They did not go far though. He felt a cool hand brush his forehead. Desperate for contact, he caught the hand and held it in both of his own. 

"Don't go." 

"I am here." 

A second hand guided him backwards until the back of his knees bumped a frame, a bed he realized. He should have been surprised but a numbness was spreading through his heavy limbs. He sat down. The mattress was firm and smooth and a feather pillow cushioned his head. The Hessian pushed him gently and that was all the encouragement Ichabod needed. He lay down. 

He was stripped of his wet clothes. Large, strong hands seemed to touch him softly everywhere. He was disappointed when again the hands drew away from him, but then heavy blankets were being drawn across his icy body. "I'm so cold." 

There was rustling and the creaking of leather, followed by a thump and an accompanying jingle, then a second. Then a heavy weight settled on the bed beside Ichabod. He swallowed nervously. The Hessian stretched out turning both of them so that Ichabod lay on his side with his back pressed against the Horseman's solid frame. Only the blankets separated their bodies. The Horseman curled one long, bare arm around his waist and held him. 

Warmth crept back in slowly. Ichabod drifted in and out of sleep. When nightmares came, they were chased away by soft words in German. He was unsure of exactly how much time had passed when he started awake. He could feel the German soldier still curled against his back. He was still, unmoving and unbreathing but warm, solid, comforting. He relaxed and slept soundly. 

When awareness returned to the human he found himself in strange surroundings. At first he could not remember where he was. It took him a few minutes to piece the clues together. Copper tang of blood, large hand resting possessively on his hip bone, powerful male body lying still as the dead at his back, he was in The Tree, the man at his back was none other than the Hessian Horseman. He was in his lair, in his bed. Ichabod trembled in fear. 

The hand at his hip moved upward curling around his waist hugging him closer to the body behind him. Soothing words in German brushed his ear. He cried out softly then stiffened. The words behind him became even gentler, the hand moved up to brush his tangled hair back from his face. 

"Ichabod, Shhh, you are safe." 

"S-safe." 

"Safe." 

The deep voice was so certain, that Ichabod believed him. He turned to face the ghost blinking in the darkness. As if in response to his unspoken desire, there was a flicker of light and the warm glow of candlelight from a candelabrum at the foot of the bed. 

He looked at his rescuer. In the soft light, the Hessian still looked intimidating, but not as terrifying as before. The candlelight warmed his pale skin a little and softened the sharp lines of his face even as they deepened the hollows beneath his high cheekbones giving him a somber, sad look. His pale grey eyes watched him with something like wariness. 

"Thank you." 

The Hessian smiled a fleeting expression that was little more than a curve of his lips and a lift of his eyebrow. Subtle as the movement was, the change it produced made Ichabod's breath catch in his throat. For a moment, he could see a sparkle of humor and a hint of shyness that he would never have imagined in conjunction with the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. 

He reached hesitantly and brushed his fingers across the Horseman's cheek. "You saved my life. I don't even know your real name." 

"Christiaan." 

"Christiaan," Ichabod savored the name feeling the weight of it and the irony in it. "I am lying beneath the Tree of the Dead, in bed with Christiaan, the formerly headless, Horseman of Sleepy Hollow." That fleeting smile crossed the Hessian's countenance again. Ichabod felt the shifting of muscles under his fingers. "Am I dead?" 

"No." 

"Why did you save me? Why did you come to me the other day? Why did you k-kiss me?" 

"I wanted to." 

Ichabod smiled. "Do you always get what you want?" 

"You are here." 

Ichabod trembled at the simple statement. His chest tightened and his stomach clenched. He felt as if he were wrapped in a blanket of heat. The look on the Hessian's face was one of longing, desire, and something else, something he could not quite find a name for. 

He let his hand move down to the fierce mouth. His fingers trembled against the silky flesh of his lips. He trembled harder but did not pull away when Christiaan's larger hand closed over his own. The gentle kiss the Hessian pressed into his palm sent searing waves of sensation racing through his body. Ichabod gasped as the Hessian kissed his wrist, sucking gently at the delicate skin, then he leaned up and found Ichabod's lips. 

This was not the gentle brush of a kiss they had shared the day before. The Hessian claimed his lips. His tongue demanded entrance, and Ichabod surrendered his mouth to the fire that was consuming him. Right and wrong ceased to exist, in all the universe there was only need, an aching hunger that demanded to be fed, a thirst that had to be sated, desire. Ichabod let thought and rationality be swept away as he drowned in a sea of sensation that he had never even dreamed of before. 

By the time the kiss ended, Ichabod was panting breathlessly. Impetuously, he wrapped his arms around the Hessian burying his face against his neck. Strong arms held him tightly in return. He wrestled the covers over both of them so that he could feel the body pressed against his with nothing in between. 

It was a totally new experience for Ichabod. He had never slept with a woman, much less a man. The hair on the Hessian's chest tickled him pleasantly. His stomach, arms, and legs were all muscle beneath soft flesh. Most disturbingly, he could feel the hardness of the man beside him pressing into his thigh. 

Christiaan's strong, battle-calloused hands stroked his back soothingly. 

"You could stay here, love me, forever." 

"I have duties, commitments..." The excuse sounded lame even to Ichabod's own ears. 

"Then I will wait, I have all the time there is." Ichabod shivered at the regret in the Horseman's voice. "So that you do not forget, I give you this." 

With no other warning, Ichabod found himself on his back, the Hessian loomed over him. The ghost leaned down kissing Ichabod hard, claiming his mouth, exploring with his tongue. He lowered his body onto the mortal carefully bearing most of his weight on his thighs and pinning Ichabod's legs between his own. 

Ichabod cried out softly as a long fingered hand closed around his sex where it lay between their bodies and began to stroke him in long, even caresses. It felt incredible. It was not long until he was crying out in pleasure begging for release. He could feel Christiaan's other hand touching him everywhere, combing through his hair, teasing a nipple, sliding under him to caress one of his buttocks and gently finger the crease between them. Far too soon the pressure became too much for Ichabod. At the same moment he came, Christiaan plunged a finger deeply, smoothly into the tiny opening beneath him. Ichabod's whole body arched up from the bed, muscles clinched around the intruder as his seed spilled between them. No orgasm he had ever brought himself too had felt like this. Shudders wracked his body as every nerve seemed to tingle. He nearly sobbed as the finger withdrew leaving him feeling strangely empty. 

He felt as much as heard the Hessian chuckle beside him. Then, the dead soldier whispered fiercely against his ear "No other can make you feel as I do. Your flesh knows what you want, come to me when your head knows the same, mein Liebling." 

The Horseman sat up pulling away from Ichabod. As he watched a mist began to curl around the Hessian, he seemed to grow more and more translucent as he watched. The he leaned in once more his eyes glowing an unearthly silvery colour. Ichabod reached out as if to touch him and the mist swirled thickly obscuring the uncanny eyes and then curling around him. For a moment he felt as if he were being touched by a thousand tiny cold fingers, each no more substantial than a spider's web, then darkness overtook him. 

Something was shaking him, he cried out reaching for the place where the Hessian had been and opened his eyes to a blinding light. He blinked owlishly, trying to figure out where he was. As his eyes adjusted he saw that he was in a barn under a pile of horse blankets. He was fully dressed and his clothes were blessedly dry and warm. Masbeth was shaking him and encouraging him to sit up. He looked worried. 

"I'm quite alright, young Masbeth." 

"Alright? I don't know why you aren't frozen to death. We thought you were lost in the blizzard. We didn't know if we'd even find your body until spring. What happened, sir?" 

"I...um...just got lost in the snow. I must have found my way here, somehow. I'm not sure where here is." 

"You're in the Killians' barn. You were gone for two whole days." 

"Two days...Are you sure of that?" 

"Yes, The storm was too bad to search for you yesterday. We've been out looking since the storm broke, just before dawn." 

Ichabod let Masbeth lead him out to the door but stopped there in shock. A thick white mist covered everything, the sun shone through it reflecting back from the snow on the ground making everything seem to glow like foxfire. 

"Pretty isn't it, sir. The weather turned warm just as the sun came up and this mist came up off the snow so fast some of the old timers said it was magic. It'll burn off soon enough though." 

Numbly, Ichabod followed Masbeth back through the snow and mist to the Van Tassel manor. The new doctor was there and insisted on checking his hands and feet for frostbite and listening to his breathing before letting him go up to his room. He finally pronounced Ichabod sound physically and let him go up to his room with a cup of hot tea and orders to rest. 

As he undressed, Ichabod's mind worked feverishly trying to decide if everything had been a dream. It had felt real. He still had that languid feeling that release always gave him. He could still feel where the finger had invaded his body bringing the slightest pain and a jolt like electricity. His lips felt swollen. He could taste the Hessian in his mouth. There was no stickiness on his chest, though. He ran his hand lightly across his stomach brushing the nipple that Christiaan had teased. It grew hard immediately tingling just at it had before. 

Ichabod realized what he was doing and gasped, dropping his coat to the floor. It fell heavily with an unusual thump. Cautiously, Ichabod knelt and picked it up. There was something in his pocket. He pulled it out and sat on the bed. It was a heavy silver ring set with a single black stone. Inscribed on the back were two words in what had to be German 'der Reiter." 

Ichabod smiled and tried the ring on. It fit his thumb a little loosely, but a few wraps of yarn would hold it tight.. He stripped out of the rest of his clothes and climbed into his own bed not bothering with his nightshirt. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow. outside the window, the mist swirled thickly for a moment before retreating, disappearing as rapidly as it had come giving way to the bright morning sun.


End file.
